A/N: Spoilers for season 10. Kind of an episode tag for "Squall."

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS. Nor do I own The Great Santini, which is quoted below.

Lost time is never found again.
-Benjamin Franklin

The bar is crowded.

The sights, sounds and smells hit him all at once as he steps through the door. The cooler temperature inside is a welcome break from the sweltering heat the summer is delivering so far this year. During the day, most establishments keep their doors perched open, luring passerby with a glimpse of refreshment that lies within. This one is no different. Even at this late hour, a chalkboard sign with hastily scrawled specials props the ornate wood door open, and his skin enjoys the unique sensation of humidity mixed with Freon.

Leaning forward on his toes, he pulls himself up to his full height to scan the multitude.

It's easy to spot him.

McGee is sitting alone in a booth; vastly juxtaposed to the two booths on his left and right – both of which hold far too many co-eds to be seated comfortably. His head is tipped back against the high-backed wooden barrier; his long legs sprawled out underneath the table; his fingers fiddling with an empty glass tumbler.

Tony strolls to the bar and orders himself a drink, seldom taking his eyes off Tim. The younger man hardly moves, even when the waitress swings by to replace his empty glass with a full one. Cold drink in hand, Tony weaves through the crowd and slips into the booth, stretching his own legs out on the worn vinyl padding.

"Happy Father's Day, McGee!"

Tony clinks his glass against Tim's with a flourish when he looks up in surprise.

"Tony? Where did you come from?"

Tony grins from behind his drink. "'I came from behind the moon, out of the dark, unannounced.'"

"What are you doing here?" McGee asks, ignoring Tony's recognizable movie quote. "I thought you were going out to dinner with your dad?"

"Yeah, I thought so too," Tony admits with a sheepish grin as he gets comfortable in the seat across from his friend. "But he canceled at the last minute."

"You've been planning this dinner for weeks," McGee comments with a touch of concern.

Tony feels McGee's eyes on him, and he scans the crowd with fixated attention, noticing for the first time a distinct lack of attractive women. What kind of bar is this? McGee needs to find a better place to drown in his sorrows.

"Yeah, well…" Tony gives a one shoulder shrug before downing half of his drink with one swallow.

"How'd you know I was here?"

"Spidey-sense."

Tim snorts, but doesn't dig further.

A supernatural discovery of where Tim was hiding out actually isn't far from the truth. Upon listening to his dad's excuse for canceling, Tony had decided to head out with no real plan in mind. After driving around for a bit, it was ultimately an accident on the Beltway that had detoured Tony's trip to the side streets of Chevy Chase. Tony had seen McGee's parked car by chance, looping around the block and passing by again to be sure it was his. He'd debated on whether or not to come in…

And now, as he looks at Tim, he knows he made the right choice.

Tim sighs, and for the first time since Tony sat down, he takes a sip of his drink.

"How many is that for you?"

A shrug is all Tony gets from him.

They sit in silence for a time. Tim is fascinated by the condensation dripping on the outside of his glass, while Tony gets comfortable in the corner, running his hand across deep gouges in the booth's worn wood left by previous patrons. Finally it is Tim that breaks the lull.

"What are you doing here, Tony?"

Tony repeats his previous acknowledgment. "I told you… my dad canceled on me."

Tim shakes his head. "What are you doing here?" he repeats, but Tony hears the real question: Why?

"Because it's Father's Day, McGee."

The quiet seriousness in Tony's voice finally draws Tim's eyes away from his drink. He searches Tony's face for some time, only looking away when he appears to be satisfied that Tony isn't joking around with him.

"So?"

"So…" he begins, leaning slightly forward across the table, "you shouldn't be alone."

"Why not? I'm not a father, Tony."

"Of course you aren't. You'd have to have sex first." Tony grins at his attempt to bring some lighthearted banter into the conversation, but the joke falls flat. Tim doesn't take the bait and he's back to stoically staring at his glass. Tony clears his throat.

"Look, McGee, do I have to spell it out for you here?"

Tim shakes his head. He doesn't want to talk about the obvious.

"It's only been a few months, Tony." His voice is heavy, but Tony doesn't comment on it. "It's not like I celebrated Father's Day with him before he died. It's… it's no different now."

"Look at me and say that again."

Tim does, but not really, and Tony works his mouth in frustration. Tim's eyes are dull and distant, and Tony realizes how much his father's death is really affecting him… and how hard he's working on hiding it.

"Tony, please…" McGee says softly.

Tony takes a moment to study his friend. He remembers the day when he'd answered McGee's extension. He'd been in MTAC with Gibbs most of the morning, and his desk phone kept ringing. It had been out of pure annoyance that Tony was the one to stalk over to McGee's desk and take the call. And then, of course, he'd had to be the one to break the news. McGee had taken it well… after all, the death of his father was not unexpected. Still, as calm a demeanor he maintained on the outside, his expressive eyes screamed in pain and regret.

Now, two months later, it's obvious that time hasn't changed a thing.

"Of course it's different, Tim."

Tim tenses at the use of his first name, but he relaxes almost instantly when he takes another sip of his drink.

"I know," he whispers.

"Let me ask you something," Tony says as he swings his legs down and under the table, knocking Tim's in the process. "Why are you here?"

"I just… wanted to forget."

"Forget what?"

"All of the missed Father's Days before this one," Tim says, and then blushes as if his honesty is embarrassing. He hides behind another sip of his drink, and Tony does the same; allowing them both time to adjust to the somber statement.

"What if it's my fault?"

Tony nearly chokes on an ice cube. Blood rushes to Tim's face as he attempts to explain his declaration, but Tony interrupts him.

"What if what is your fault?"

Tim is hesitant to talk, but he knows that Tony's stubbornness has no boundaries. There is no hope of an escape from this conversation.

"All those years spent apart. All those Father's Days where I could have at least tried to call him. Gibbs told me I was being the bigger man by trying to make amends with him during Commander Haber's case. But was it too little, too late? Why didn't I do it the year before? Or the year before that?"

Tim's grip on his drink tightens and he sighs deeply.

"What if..." Tim pauses, swallowing the guilt building in the back of his throat. "Tony, what if it's my fault that we didn't start talking all those years ago? What if he was just waiting for me to fix things? I never asked, you know. Never asked how long he'd known he was sick before I found out."

Tim isn't crying, but it's close. He's clearly only holding himself together for Tony's sake.

"McGee, why didn't you tell anyone you were feeling like this?" He searches his face, but McGee is keenly studying a crude etching of 'Bianca wuz here' on the table.

"It doesn't change anything."

"You should have told me," Tony says with a frown.

"Why?" Tim demands, and his voice breaks in that singular word. "What would you have said? A joke? A quote from a movie?"

"Probably!"

The honest reply takes Tim by surprise and his eyes snap back to Tony's face.

"But you still should have told me. Because it's not your fault. No more than it's my fault for my dad's absence for most of my life."

Tim swallows again and stares at Tony as if willing him to continue. But he doesn't, and the shared moment dissipates. Tony clears his throat and raises his glass out halfway across the table.

"You can be mad as a mad dog at the way things went. You can swear and curse the fates, McGee. But when it comes to the end… you have to let go."

Tim eyes him carefully.

"That was… nice, Tony."

"Thank you," Tony acknowledges as he softly clinks his glass against McGee's.

"What movie is it from?"

"It's not from a movie!" Tony defends with a scoff. "I can say nice things!"

"Mmm hmm," Tim replies skeptically.

"Okay, it was from The Curious Case of Benjamin Button."

Tim rolls his eyes and his mouth twists into a smile.

"C'mon, Probie, let's get out of here. We can head back to my place… watch The Great Santini."

"Really, Tony. The Great Santini?"

"'I want us to make our parents proud… our grandparents proud… our first and second cousins proud…'"

"Tony!" McGee groans over Tony's booming voice, but he's smiling fully now, and Tony feels successful. He knows that an evening spent at Chez DiNozzo won't be enough to get McGee through the death of his father. But it's something he can offer, at least.

"What do you say?" Tony asks, throwing down more than enough cash on the table to cover Tim's tab. "Want to get out of here?"

McGee downs the rest of his drink, enjoying the burn, and broodingly looks toward the bar. He contemplates his next move, knowing Tony is waiting for an answer while Tim, himself, is waiting for the alcohol to numb the ache and guilt.

It doesn't.

It never does.

But as he looks over at Tony, whose eyebrows are raised in silent expectation, Tim thinks that maybe he doesn't need it to.